The Courtship of Clark & Lois
by sienna27
Summary: Universe G - Story 2 of 2: New Girl'verse tale, Hotch and Emily begin dating, late season three.
1. Guns & Roses

**Author's Note: ** It's here!

If you're new 'to me' this is Story 2, in Universe G. You probably want to read Story 1 (The Lonely Hearts Club) to see how we got to where we are.

Opening with Emily, gearing up for their first date night, dinner.

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**Prompt Set #44 (November 2012)**

Show: 90210

Title Challenge: Sweaty Palms and Weak Knees

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_**Early March - 2008**_

**Guns & Roses**

On Wednesday, during her lunch hour, Emily went to have her nails done at her favorite (work adjacent) manicuring salon over at the Dumfries Plaza Shopping Center. And the reason she was getting her nails done randomly in the middle of the work week, was because she was so flipping EXCITED about her date the next night with Hotch!

Yes, Hotch . . . she squirmed slightly with anticipation as Lieu deftly buffed her sad, 'chewed down by two weeks of anxiety ridden relationship drama' nails, back into shape . . . the crankiest, sexiest, _DIMPLIEST_, man that she knew! He'd come over the night before to tell her that he was now (happily) divorced, and to ask her if she'd be interested in now becoming his numero uno, squeeze.

Okay, well he didn't say THAT . . . she was pretty sure that he was physiologically incapable of stringing that series of words into a sentence that would actually leave his mouth . . . but that was _basically_ what he'd said. That he was now free to start seeing her, if she wanted to start seeing him. And given that she'd already told him a few weeks earlier that she wanted to start seeing _him,_ essentially . . . for the first time EVER . . . her personal life was aligning almost like she didn't have the worst recorded taste/luck in the world, with the opposite sex. It was really a bit of a miracle.

So much so that she was sort of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Not actually with Hotch himself . . . she knew that he would never have taken last night's step if he wasn't sure about his own feelings . . . but more that she'd found her karma tended to even itself out. So if she was about to start what would_, hopefully _(please God), be a happy, fun, intellectually, emotionally and sexually fulfilling relationship with a man . . . a novelty for her . . . then something, somewhere else, was about to hit the skids.

It was the Law of Emily.

But for the moment, as she pointed to the picture of the plain white French manicure that Lieu held up in the catalog in front of her, Emily decided to just keep on enjoying the high ride that she was on. Basically she was floating on, well . . . her brow wrinkled slightly . . . not Cloud _Nine,_ not yet. Maybe after they had sex she'd be on Nine. But she was definitely on Cloud Seven . . . with the elevator button double punched for Cloud Eight.

Cloud Eight would be tomorrow night when their 'date' actually began.

Hence the manicure.

Though she wasn't quite sure yet where they were going . . . this was information that Hotch had not yet shared . . . she knew that it would definitely be somewhere nice, and she wanted to look pretty. And her nails had . . . she gave them a sad head shake as Lieu broke out the nude polish . . . _seriously_, taken one for the team this last week. Biting them was her go to stress release. After vodka.

And sex.

But she'd been out of vodka, and she was waiting on Hotch to figure out if he was getting divorced. So without him or his penis being available . . . it's not like she was going to pick up some random dude in a bar when she was trying to process her growing feelings for another man . . . sex wasn't really a go to option either.

But now it would be.

And her eyes crinkled slightly as she flashed back on the amazing kiss that Hotch had given her at the door the night before. So yeah, there were all kinds of fun stress releasers on the table now.

And she couldn't wait to start trying them out!

/*/*/*/*/*/

"God, you're ugly as shit."

With that dismissive expletive, another long forgotten (ugly as shit) item from the back of Emily's closet, went flying over her shoulder and onto the unmade bed. It was just after six-thirty Thursday evening, she was freshly showered, and moisturized, standing naked in the middle of her bedroom, trying to figure out what the hell to wear. It was a ridiculously difficult decision.

Especially given that she'd already DECIDED on her outfit, the night before!

She was planning on a very simple, basic black, cocktail dress. It was mid-thigh with a little flare in the skirt and a nicely, low cut bust line. But not _slutty_ cut, just . . . perfect. It was basically the best little black dress she'd found in years. And when she'd decided the night before that she was going to wear it, she'd taken it out of her closet, and placed the hangar on the hook on the back of the bathroom door.

There were a few wrinkles in the bodice area, and she'd wanted them to steam out.

And she'd been ALL set to slip into her de-wrinkled dress post shower, when suddenly she'd spotted something in the bright light of the bathroom, that she'd previously missed when she was pulling the little dress out of the moderately lit master bedroom closet.

A stain.

A MUSTARD stain, to be precise.

Big freaking yellow mustard stain, on the seat of the skirt. And she had no idea where it had come from . . . it's not like she was eating hot dogs out of her ASS(!) . . . but somehow she must have sat in the condiment the last time that she'd worn the dress, and then totally missed it when she hung it back in the closet. So now she was looking for a backup outfit, when no backup had even been CONSIDERED! And for some reason, half of the things that she was finding were obnoxiously bright, print dresses, skirts, and shirts, that she must have been drunk when she bought.

Or maybe she'd just been going through a phase.

A terrible, _terrible_, animal print phase. But either way . . . she scowled as another zebra pattern was kicked to the curb/bed, the lack of 'normal' (read, non-migraine inducing) patterns, was starting to seriously stress her out.

But then her fingers touched on something soft and shimmery, and her eyes lit up.

Oh . . . she pulled it off the hangar . . . she'd forgotten about this one! It had been an impulse purchase at Nordstrom's. Not that she'd had any place to wear it at the time, but it was a 'spring into fall' sale, and the dress was just too pretty to pass up.

Well, at sixty percent off, it had been too pretty to pass up.

At its full original price of three hundred and . . . her eyes widened when she looked at the tag still hanging off it . . . ninety eight dollars . . . damn . . . it would have still been hanging by its sad little self on the 'last season' discount rack.

But when she held up the silky coral material with the sparkly mesh yoke, she turned to look in the full length mirror, she knew . . . her eyes crinkled . . . it was just perfect for tonight. It was pretty, and elegant, but not _too_ elegant (if there was such a thing) if all they ended up doing was just having dinner.

Again, she still wasn't sure if that's all they were doing.

Hotch hadn't mentioned anything besides dinner, but he _had_ said that he was picking her up at seven, which was definitely early enough . . . if their reservation was at seven-thirty, likely given that they were only ten minutes outside the city . . . for him to have planned an evening that included more than just packing on the feedbag.

So with her outfit for the evening (once again) chosen, Emily went about quickly pulling the rest of her unpulled together self, together.

The clock was starting to tick.

The first thing that she put on was her best white lace, no line, Victoria Secret underwear, with matching strapless bra. Given the previous . . . amorous . . . activities that she'd engaged in with Hotch, sex, though not necessarily _planned_, was a distinct possibility. Which meant that all layers needed to be perfect.

Just in case.

But once her girl parts were all lace enclosed . . . and she slipped on a matching garter just for fun, Hotch's fun . . . she headed into the bathroom to do her makeup.

After a second of tapping her freshly manicured tips on the counter, she decided to go with light earth tones for the shadow and her lips.

And then a little mascara, blush . . . and then hair.

For that, she decided to try something a little different. A loose chignon with her bangs on a side sweep. And it came out looking pretty freaking good even if she did say so herself. So with her top part now as prettied up as she going to get, she headed back out to the bedroom to hitch on her rarely worn thigh holster.

Even if she was now dating Superman, a girl on the town still needed her Glock.

And once the holster was on, and her off-duty Glock slipped into it, she finally picked up the piece de resistance . . . the dress itself. A dress which she very carefully shimmied down over her fancy 'do . . . cleared that pretty well . . . her 'perky bosom' . . . a bit snug . . . and then her full hips.

Even more snug.

But once she'd tugged and wriggled and rearranged the girls . . . and then arranged them again when she saw that one was crooked . . . the tight silk was falling over all of her curves in the proper shimmery fashion. And as she turned to look at herself in the mirror, her eyes immediately crinkled as her lips curved.

Yep, perfect.

Eh . . . her brow wrinkled as her gaze dropped down to the reflection of the dress' slit . . . almost perfect.

Gun was peeking.

But after some not so ladylike dress flipping, and holster hoisting, everything was nicely . . . though somewhat obscenely . . . tucked out of sight. Funny though, she chuckled to herself, if anybody besides Hotch tried to put his hand up her skirt, that would be one hell of a surprise. But somehow . . . she went over to pull her heels out of the closet . . . she knew that it wouldn't phase him a bit.

And after slipping on her only twice worn strappy silver, open toed heels . . . they went perfectly with the sparkly mesh yoke on the dress, and bonus, she could show off the nice French pedicure she got too . . . Emily found a pair of silver dangles to match all the rest of the shiny bits. Then she spritzed on some of her good perfume, did a final check of her hair and makeup . . . good, and good . . . threw her phone and a few tissues into her silver evening clutch, and headed out of the bedroom with the little purse tucked under her arm.

She'd taken two steps out of the room before she turned around to run back in to get her lipstick and powder from the bathroom. She threw them into the clutch.

And she was just walking back out into the upstairs hallway, when she heard the doorbell . . . and she broke into a huge grin. He was here!

Yay!

And though her instinct was to run down to let him inside . . . cool and collected be damned, this was a big night(!) . . . her heels were three inches tall.

There would be no 'running' down the stairs.

But still she hurried along as quickly as she could and not break her neck. All the while yelling, "be right there, Hotch!" as she clip clopped down the staircase.

And then two seconds later she was hurrying down the front hall, and checking the peep hole . . . never assume the person who rang the bell, was the person you're expecting . . . and whipping the door open.

"Hey," she greeted him with a breathless grin, "how you doing?"

Hotch's eyebrow slowly inched up as he took in Emily's beautiful face, and then the curve hugging dress.

"You look gorgeous," he said with an appreciative nod. And then his eyes dropped back down to her fabulous legs, and he added with a smirk, "so where's your gun?"

And she burst out laughing.

"If you're a good boy," she chuckled, "you just might get to find out."

Of course that would be his first question. And once more . . . her eyes crinkled as she reached out to take his hand . . . she was getting a really good feeling about this relationship.

Hotch's lips twitched as Emily tugged him over the threshold.

"Trust me," he shot back with a wolfish grin, "I will be on my _best_ behavior." And then he sobered slightly, and his expression softened as he gave Emily's fingers a squeeze, "but you really do look beautiful, Emily."

Though he felt that this was simply a statement of empirical fact . . . she _was_ beautiful, it was not a matter of opinion . . . still he saw her lips curve in a shy smile right before she whispered a, "thanks," and popped up to press a kiss to his cheek. And then she brushed her thumb over his skin to rub away the faint tint before she turned to shut and lock the door behind him.

While she was turned away, he took his other arm out from behind his back.

"I brought you these," he said as she turned to face him again, "I figured we still did that," his brow inched up, "right?"

Red roses. It was a first date requirement.

At least it used to be.

"Oh," Emily's eyes started to sting as she saw the dozen long stems in Hotch's hand, "they're so pretty." Then she looked up at him with a watery smile,

"Thank you. And no," she huffed slightly as she reached out to take the bouquet, "your gender doesn't do the flower thing as often as you guys used to. I think it's been about ten, twelve months since a man has given me flowers. And even then, I think it was like carnation day at a Nats game, or something, and he got it for free."

That was already the second tick in the Pro Hotch Relationship Column . . . and they weren't even out the door yet!

"Hmm," Hotch frowned slightly as he followed Emily into the kitchen and she put her purse on the counter, "well, that's not right. You should be getting flowers all the time." But seeing the slightly embarrassed smile Emily gave him, he knew that wasn't the case. And that bothered him. That she hadn't been treated as well as she should have been.

Even if was just a little thing like flowers.

But of course the little things . . . he felt a churning in his gut as he thought back over the years to Emily's occasionally awkward and less self-assured moments . . . they never were.

So when she turned away to start unwrapping the paper around the flowers, he walked up behind her.

Though for a brief moment he hesitated before reaching out.

It was funny, even though he felt perfectly comfortable kissing her, touching her whenever he so chose, that was still new. But after he'd reminded himself that it was allowed now . . . and very much, welcomed now . . . he slipped his arm around her waist. Then he pressed his lips to her ear.

"We'll do flowers once a week, okay? We'll get those numbers to even out."

Feeling a warmth spreading out from her chest and down to her toes, Emily's eyes snapped closed. And as her free hand clutched Hotch's wrist where it was pressed against her stomach, she whispered back.

"That's very sweet, but you don't have to do that."

"That was a rhetorical question," he murmured back with a kiss to her neck, "you deserve flowers, you should get flowers. Now," he continued softly against her skin, "what are your favorite kind?"

Emily huffed slightly as she tried to blink the tears from her eyes . . . okay, he was totally going to spoil her rotten for all other men.

And then she turned around in his arms.

"I like daisies," she answered with a faintly watery smile, "gerbera daisies. They're a happy little flower."

"Yeah," Hotch's eyes crinkled slightly as he flashed on the daisies he'd seen in the flower shop, "I guess they are kind of a happy little flower."

That wasn't a thought that would ever have occurred to him on his own. But it was always nice when he caught a glimpse of the world through Emily's eyes. And as he looked down at her, he was thinking about the daisies that would have matched her dress. And then she gave him a little smile, and he gave her a wink in return.

Then he leaned down and gave her a light peck on the lips.

Though he really wanted to give her a proper kiss, he could see that her makeup was freshly applied. And he didn't want to be a jerk and mess it all up. Not before they'd even walked out the door.

That was for when he brought her home.

"So are you all ready to go?" He asked softly as he pulled away, licking the corner of his mouth. And she nodded and sniffed as she brushed her thumb over his lower lip, "yep." Then her smile brightened, "just have to put my flowers in some water. Actually, can you um," her gaze shifted up and over his shoulder as she patted his chest, "please get me a vase? They're in that cabinet on the left, behind you. Top shelf. I can't really reach without climbing on the counter, and," she smirked, "this isn't really a good counter climbing, dress."

"No," his lips twitched as he patted her hip, "no, it's not."

So he let her go, to turn and get the vase down from the cabinet. And once he'd filled it with water, she tucked the newly trimmed buds down into the glass.

After a moment's fluffing and rearranging, she muttered a, "perfect" to herself, and then smiled as she turned to look up at him.

"K, ready."

Hotch's eyebrow inched up.

"What about your coat?"

"But," Emily frowned as she looked down at her silky dress, "I'm pretty."

"Yes," Hotch cleared his throat to hide the laughter that started to bubble up, "that's true, you're very pretty. But you'll still be pretty with a coat."

"But nobody will see how pretty I am if I have a coat on," Emily responded with a faint pout. "I mean really Hotch, I NEVER get dressed up like this anymore. It was fun," then her gaze dropped down as her voice dropped, "but I guess nobody's going to see it."

Yes, she knew that she sounded kind of silly. But it was true. It was rare these days that she went anywhere REALLY nice, so it was doubly rare that she could get dressed up REALLY nice. And she wasn't quite so young and 'bouncy' as she used to be. So she just kind of wanted to flaunt it a little bit.

If that didn't sound too pathetic.

Which it probably did.

"Prentiss," Hotch said softly as he reached out to lift Emily's chin, "I promise," his eyes locked onto hers, "that when the weather warms up, we will go to more nice places, and you can wear more pretty things," his eyes crinkled, "and all the other women will hate you because you're so much more beautiful than they are. But tonight," he gave her a little smile as his thumb brushed her jaw, "I do think that you need a coat. It's March. Even _I _need a coat, and you know I'm never cold."

Emily looked up at Hotch with a sheepish smile.

"Okay," she agreed with a pat to his arm, "I'll get a coat." And then she rolled her eyes slightly, "sorry for being silly, I was just, you know," she huffed, "girl stuff."

"It's okay," his expression softened, "I like it when you're silly. You know, work is hard and it's sad, but you being you," he nodded seriously, "you make things better. You make all those other things a little less awful." Then he huffed slightly, "and now that I've said that out loud, I'm not sure it if sounded like the compliment that it was intended to be."

"No," Emily smiled as she blinked away the moisture forming in her eyes, "no, that sounded just fine," she popped up on her toes to give him a kiss, "thank you."

And then she patted his chest, and slipped around him to go over to the front hall closet. A second later she came out with her best black wool. Hotch helped her slip it on.

"Still beautiful," he whispered with a wink as he fixed her buttons.

And she bit her lip and squeezed her fists, and wondered what the hell was wrong with Haley that she would have given this man away. But then she pushed the thought aside.

Eh, whatever, better that he was hers than Haley's.

Screw that crazy bitch.

Once Emily was buttoned up, Hotch picked up her keys from the hall table, and handed her the purse that she'd left on the kitchen counter. Then he put his arm around her waist, and started walking her down the front hall. When she got to the door, she stopped to look up at him.

"I just wanted you to know," she whispered, "I'm going to have a really good time tonight."

Hotch's eyes crinkled slightly as he reached past her to put his hand on the knob.

"Well, what if your food is cold," he asked with a touch of amusement while reaching past her to pull the door open, "or somebody steps on your foot?"

"Won't matter," she responded with a soft smile, "it's going to be great." Then she winked.

"Trust me."

Then she stepped out into the hall and started walking down to the elevator. And Hotch stared after her for a moment, feeling a faint warmth in his chest. Finally his lip quirked up.

Yeah . . . he nodded to himself . . . it was going to be a good night.

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_A/N 2: And there we go. One more ball being juggled in the air :) Now, long note._

_First, if you want to see Em's dress (or buy it) it exists. At Nordstrom's. You can see a pic on my Tumblr post. I do enjoy fancy dress shopping for her, because I get to pick out things I never would (or could :)) pick out for myself._

_My idea as a projection for the storyline is to perhaps mirror some of the other Girl stories, in some ways. Like here, I had the Arrangement in mind as I started it. That story is about them getting together initially, (about 2 months before this same timeframe) solely for physical bonding, and here, they'd realized the emotional attachment first. And as both opening chapters covered their first time getting together after they'd made this decision to 'couple up,' I thought it was a good blueprint. So this chapter, like The Arrangement, stayed primarily with Emily, covering her thoughts and actions while she got ready for Hotch's arrival. The lingerie versus the dresses. And then Hotch's reaction to her at the door. And then the flowers, that was a shimmer of the 'gala chapter' in Girl :) But then everything has been reimagined for this other world, with this earlier, slightly different, version of them. A version where Hotch wasn't pushed to the limit with Haley and still trying to hang on, right up to the end. This Hotch has already realized that when he looked at Emily, he could see potential there that he no longer could, with Haley. So he made a choice to move on. It wasn't a decision that was forced on him. That's a big character shift. Because outside of Second Chances, that difference puts him ahead of most of the other Girl'verse versions of Hotch at this point in calendar time. That's why I'm kind of excited to write this one. It's sort of like having the more easy going version of Hotch you get later in Girl (and universe C) because here he's already in 'relationship mode' but without so much of the angsting that he had to go through elsewhere. So they're learning things about each other, and they can be 'romantic' and it's all fresh and new._

_And the title of the story, Clark and Lois, as I mentioned from Lonely Hearts, is also a thread pulled from around the girl'verses. And I was kind of ridiculously happy with the chapter title too, because I got to the end, and I didn't know what I was going to call it (I never do until I'm all done) and then I opened my prompts database, (has like 3000 fields in it) and it just popped off the page as like the third line down :)_

_I do have chapter two half written, and a concrete idea for chapters three and four :) so we'll probably see this one in the lineup for a bit. But I'm still working on other stuff too. The never ending, bounce :)_

_Thanks for reading everyone. Hope you're excited. But of course if you're just, 'God, ANOTHER one' that's cool too! :) I think I've said, if you stick with me long enough, we might get to Universe Z. Which will be the Zombie Apocalypse… of course ;) _


	2. Cracker Jack Prizes

**Author's Note**: Continuing on with date night. And thanks everybody for the response to chapter one :)

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**Prompt Set #21 (August)**

Show: Friday Night Lights

Title Challenge: I Think We Should Have Sex

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**Cracker Jack Prizes**

Emily stepped off the ramp to the parking garage and onto the sidewalk running up 35th Street.

"Brrr," she shivered, pulling her woolen lapels closer when the cross wind suddenly blasted her from the East, "it's cold out."

Hotch's lips twitched as he looked down at her.

"Wow, good thing you brought a coat, huh?"

And she grinned.

"It is," she leaned up to give him a kiss, murmuring with a smirk as she pulled away, "smart man told me I might need one."

With a good natured eye roll, Hotch tucked the parking stub into his pocket before reaching over to take Emily's hand. As they began walking up the street, wading around the other pedestrians, she leaned against his side.

"So are you going to tell me where we're going now?"

"Oh yeah," he huffed slightly, "sorry, I thought I had. Uh, 1789. Reservation is for seven-thirty."

"Oooh," Emily shot him a little grin, "_fancy_, fancy dinner. Did you have any problem getting a primetime reservation at the last minute?"

"No," Hotch's eyes crinkled as he looked down at her, "when I left your place on Tuesday, I stopped in and flirted with the hostess."

Emily burst out laughing.

"Wow, you kissed me goodbye, and then you went straight out, flashing those dimples around town?"

"Basically," Hotch tipped his head, "yes. But it saved me the hundred bucks it probably would have cost otherwise if I'd had to actually bribe her. I told her we'd been dating for two years, that I forgot your birthday on Sunday, realized it on _Tuesday_, and I needed a special way to make it up to you." He nodded, "she was very sympathetic."

And though he knew that he should have felt a bit guilty about lying to the poor girl . . . she was maybe twenty-five . . . he didn't. Because the kind of people who frequented 1789, were the kind of people who could afford to blow a _minimum _of a hundred dollars on a single meal. So it's not like he was cutting in for a reservation in front of the 'poor' or 'needy,' or even, 'middle class.'

Most of the clientele at this restaurant, could buy and sell his ass ten times over.

"Gee Hotch," Emily's mouth quivered, "I didn't know you had it in you to use your psychological insights for purely selfish gains," she nodded firmly, "I like it. And for the record," she shot him a look, "now that we're going out, you should know that you _would_ be in very big trouble if you didn't remember my birthday until two days after it had actually ended."

Hotch tipped his head.

"Well, given that I almost forgot it last year, trust me," he rolled his eyes, "the date is now burned into my brain. October fourteenth." Then a thought occurred to him and his eyebrow inched up as he looked down, "it's your fortieth this year. Do you want a party?"

Though they were officially just on their first date, Hotch was pretty confident about the longevity of this relationship. His feelings for Emily had been slowly deepening over the last few months, as he'd found out hers had been for him. So he was sure that they were . . . if not in it for the 'long' haul, time would tell on their compatibility there . . . at least they were in it for the foreseeable future.

And Emily's fortieth birthday was definitely a "foreseeable" event on the horizon.

Feeling a tickle of amusement that Hotch was planning dates six months in advance . . . very cute, very Hotch, and not the SLIGHTEST bit surprising . . . Emily chuckled.

"No, that's necessary. Some flowers and sex will suffice," her eyes crinkled, "thanks."

They'd just reached the front of the restaurant and Hotch looked down at her with a little smile.

"Noted."

Then he reached out to grab the brass handle on the door, moving back slightly to let Emily go in ahead of him. Once inside, they headed to the maitre'd station.

After they'd been marked off as arriving, the girl . . . the same one from Tuesday . . . gave them a bright smile while asking them to please wait for a moment.

And then she disappeared into one of the dining rooms.

After exchanging a look . . . that was curious . . . Hotch and Emily took the opportunity to go drop off their coats.

As Hotch was collecting the ticket, he heard the hostess call his name. He turned to see her gesturing for him to come back, so he started over to the desk.

Before she followed after Hotch, Emily paused for a second to brush a loose thread from the skirt of her dress. But then she heard a, "psst, miss," being called out softly from the coat check girl just behind her.

So she turned, her eyebrow raised in polite confusion. "Who, me?"

"Yes ma'am," the girl continued in the same hushed tone, "it's your dress," she discretely pointed towards her back while mouthing, "your tag is showing."

Emily's eyes widened.

Crap.

And she half spun around trying to see where it was hanging down. Then she realized that she probably looked like a dog chasing her tale . . . classy . . . and stopped moving. So instead of continuing that approach, she opted to back up the few steps to the coat check desk, and just ask the girl over her shoulder.

"Where?" She whispered.

The girl poked her rib up by her left armpit, "there."

After a moment of trying to discretely reach under her arm to either yank the thing off or tuck it into her dress, she discovered that it was actually _impossible_ to discretely reach under your arm.

You just looked like you were trying to make those disgusting armpit noises.

Great.

And Emily was just about to ask the girl if she might have a pair of scissors somewhere back in her little coat booth, when she saw Hotch walking back over.

His eyebrow was raised in confusion.

"What's wrong?" He asked as he stopped in front of her.

She rolled her eyes, "apparently I forgot to take the tag off my dress." Her head jerked slightly to the left, "and now it's flapping in the breeze back there."

Thank God, this wasn't their ACTUAL first outing together. She'd come across looking like the biggest doofus on the planet. Which . . . on some days . . . she was.

But fortunately Hotch was already aware of that fact.

Feeling a wave of amusement and affection for the woman in front of him . . . only Emily . . . Hotch's eyes crinkled as he put his hand on her shoulder.

"Let me see," he said while turning her around.

"Well," Emily shifted while eyeballing the other . . . VERY well dressed, tag less . . . patrons in the lobby of the restaurant, "okay, but can you move a little closer. This is embarrassing."

"It's not a big deal Prentiss," Hotch whispered while pulling his key ring out of his pocket, "and nobody's paying any attention, so let me just," he slipped his office key between his thumb and index fingers, "see if I can cut it off. And if I can't, I'll just tuck it back into your dress. It must have been in there before or else I would have noticed it at the apartment."

And then he started sawing the little piece of plastic, holding the paper tag with his other hand. A second later it popped off into his palm.

"And there we go," his eyes crinkled slightly as he held it up between them, "public humiliation averted." Then his eyebrow inched up, "hey, I didn't know you were a size . . ."

"Give me that," Emily scowled as she snatched the tag from his fingers.

Hotch chuckled as he pulled her into a hug.

"I was just teasing," he whispered with a quick kiss to her temple, "and you don't have any pockets, so how about you give that back to me? Because you know with your luck, if you tuck it down your top, it's liable to fall out into soup."

"Yeah," Emily huffed against his chest, "it probably would." So she slipped the tag back into his hand, and he in turn slipped it into his pocket.

"You ready to eat now?" he asked with a pat to her back. "The hostess said we're all set. She was getting us a table in the F. Scott room. And apparently the chef is preparing a chocolate mousse for you as well.

Emily looked up at him with an amused smirk.

"And that would be a consolation prize for my missed birthday?"

He shrugged.

"It was a good story."

/*/*/*/*/*/

Hotch had just put a bite of mushroom into his mouth when he heard Emily ask, "so when do you want to have sex?"

And he ended up choking the mushroom back up.

"Excuse me," he asked with a garbled cough/swallow while reaching for his glass of water, "what made you ask me that question, at THIS moment?"

"Well," Emily pouted slightly as she simultaneously leaned across the table and lowered her voice, "I was just thinking how cute you looked with your new haircut, and then I was thinking, 'man, I could totally drag him into the ladies room and just jump him right now,' and then I realized that we hadn't talked about sex at all since we decided to do this dating thing, and I didn't want to have an awkward pause later tonight if I suddenly jumped you in the parking lot, and then you said, 'whoa, wait what's happening,' so I figured I should get this one cleared up now before you decide that you don't want see me anymore because you think I'm some kind of super slutty chick that puts out on the first date, in the parking lot no less. Which," she scowled slightly as she waved her hand, "I _don't_. I don't do that on the first date, and definitely not in the parking lot. But it's not like we just met at Starbucks, I've known you, _technically_, for almost two decades. So I'm not sure if this really counts as a 'first' date or not." She tipped her head, "And you know I'm kind of yes or no on that point too, because we didn't talk about that either."

By the time Emily paused to take a breath . . . literally her first one . . . Hotch's mouth was quivering.

"You were thinking _all_ that, huh?" He asked with obvious amusement.

Good God, she was adorable. And thank God they were in a corner table of the restaurant. Even in her hushed tone, that was _DEFINITELY_ a question that would have caught a 'neighbor patron's' attention.

Then he saw Emily nod back.

"Yes," Emily answered as she leaned back in her chair, "yes, I was. So," she sighed, "back to my original question, when do you want to have sex?"

"Well, what's your . . ."Hotch pursed his lips, trying to think of the most delicate phrasing of his question. Finally he finished with, "guideline?"

That seemed polite.

"Minimum three to four dates," she answered before a thought came to her and she tipped her head, "I went to seven once but," her nose wrinkled, "he finished well before the ref blew the whistle, so in retrospect I should have gone with my initial instincts that he was never going to be ready to put on the uniform."

Really the whole relationship should just be wiped from the stat list.

"All right," Hotch's eyes crinkled in amusement, "then removing Mr. 'Couldn't Go The Distance' from the list, that leaves us at three to four. Which would you prefer?"

"I already told you," Emily shot him a frown across the table, "I'd _prefer _to go home TONIGHT, and mess up your shiny new haircut."

God, what did she need here to make her point? A signal guy with FLARES waving him in to the Thong Zone?!

Hotch chuckled.

"Well," he huffed slightly while giving her an indulgent head shake, "we don't ACTUALLY have to have," he mouthed, "_intercourse,_ for you to mess up my new haircut. You can just do that in the car. So how about," he drummed his fingers on the table, "we count the years of prior relationship as equaling one date, and then we go with two more formal ones? That way tonight will count as the second, and then when our next date concludes, we'll just play it by ear from there. How's that sound?"

Emily's brow inched up.

"One more date? Okay," she nodded slowly, "that works." Then she grinned. "So what are you doing tomorrow?"

And he burst out laughing.

"Sorry, Prentiss," he shook his head sadly, "but I have a previously set engagement with a charming dinner companion."

Seeing her eyes widen slightly, he added with little smile.

"Jack. Remember, I have him Friday to Sunday."

"Oh!" Emily let out her breath, "right. Right, right."

Jesus, she'd had freaking heart attack that he was already getting picked up by some floozy! Granted he'd only had the ring off for a week, but desperate women POUNCED on a specimen like him!

Really, she was just lucky she had 'dibs!'

And though she was totally fine with Hotch's suggested guideline . . . or at least agreeable enough that it was a reasonable delay if they couldn't actually just do it tonight . . . she couldn't resist teasing him a bit. So as she saw him go to pick up his fork again, she leaned across the table.

"It's too bad you vetoed sex tonight," she shook her head sadly, "I had a good Cracker Jack surprise for you to find."

That would be the white lace garter, currently sitting VERY high up her leg.

Hotch scowled.

"Hey, I said no to sex, not no to a scavenger hunt." He winked, "I'll find my prize."

Emily giggled as she leaned back in her seat.

"Can't wait."

*/*/*/*/*

When they arrived back at her apartment, it was a little after ten. Dinner plus a short walk around Georgetown for Emily to do some window shopping, had been their only stops. And as Hotch walked Emily up to her door, she gave him a little smile as she dug out her keys.

"So can you come in for that drink tonight?" She teased.

His eyes crinkled.

"I can," he answered with a nod and a twitching of his lips, "I can actually stay for a little while."

"Oh good," Emily shot him a saucy smirk while slipping the key into the lock, "we can look over my stamp collection." Then she looked at him over her shoulder, "You do like philately don't you?"

And his mouth quivered.

"I do enjoy a good stamp collection, yes."

"Good," she winked, "I have one to show you."

And she pushed the door open, and stepped inside. She'd only gone three steps down the hall before hearing the sounds of the door closing and the locks clicking. And though she wished that was an 'in for the night' lock up, she knew that Hotch was unlikely to change his mind about the three date rule they'd discussed.

For whatever his reason . . . maybe just because the divorce was so new . . . he wanted to wait a couple days, and she was trying to be respectful of that.

Even if she personally wanted to just jump his bones.

So instead of doing that thing she really wanted to do . . . rip his clothes off, he was just so damned ADORABLE(!) . . . she let him very solicitously help her with her coat. Then she held onto his arm as she slipped her heels off with a satisfied of groan, "oh yeah, that's it baby," that generated an amused snort from Hotch.

And after she'd tossed those strappy heels over by the stairs, and both of their coats were hung in the closet, she directed Hotch to go make himself comfortable on the couch. Then she went back down the hall to play proper hostess.

Making them both a drink.

Though she had a bottle of Shiraz chilled, she knew that would probably make her sleepy. And besides that, Hotch . . . unfortunately . . . wasn't staying all night. And she knew that an open bottle of wine was an easy invitation to finish off said bottle of wine. But he needed to drive.

Which meant that a single drink would be better.

So she filled a couple of highball glasses with ice, and then covered the ice in Jameson's. It was a beautiful amber liquid.

It smelled good too.

Nice and smoky. And her eyes crinkled as she padded, barefoot, back into the living room carrying the two glasses of whiskey.

"Here you go," she smiled as Hotch hopped up to help her, "proper old timey, end of day nightcap."

Hotch's lip quirked up.

"Thanks," he said while taking the two glasses before stepping aside for Emily to walk around him.

Once she was settled on the couch, he sat back down, and handed her one of the drinks.

"Should we toast?" she asked, with raised eyebrow. And Hotch nodded seriously.

"Yes, we should. To the pretty girl in the pretty dress, thank you for having dinner with me. And thank you for agreeing to have at least nineteen more."

She laughed.

"You're very welcome," she responded with a chuckle as they clinked glasses. And after they'd each taken a sip, she put her glass down on the table . . . and then she reached over to take his as well.

Then with a little grin, she inched up on her knees and moved over to straddle his lap.

"Time to find the Cracker Jack prize."

*/*/*/*

Over the next thirty minutes, Hotch finished half his drink and found both Emily's Glock . . . and her garter belt. The Glock was on the coffee table . . . the garter had gone somewhere over his shoulder.

As had her thigh holster.

That was a bonus in the Cracker Jack box.

And forty minutes after that, both of their drink were long gone, and Emily's bra had joined the garter belt and holster off in the hinterlands. For his part, Hotch had lost his jacket, his tie and a couple of buttons off his shirt. His sleeves were also rolled up, and he was QUITE sure that he had lipstick smeared over every surface Emily's lips had touched. And God only knew what his hair looked like.

She had most definitely had her opportunity to 'mess it up.'

And also at some point she'd gotten his belt off and his pants unzipped. But he literally had NO idea when that had happened.

All he knew was that suddenly one of her hands was starting to slip inside his boxers . . . and that was unfortunately his cue to start wrapping things up. Because he knew that if he stayed any longer, he was going to have to break the just set three date rule, or else risk permanent damage to his equipment.

So his own wayward hand slid down her thigh and out from under her dress as he mumbled between kisses to her throat.

"I think it's time for me to go."

And he heard a definite moan of discontent coming from Emily.

"But, I don't want you to go," she pouted as her hand gave him a little squeeze, "we're having fun."

Hotch sucked in a breath,

"Yeah," he slowly exhaled as he reached down to capture _Emily's_ wayward fingers, "we are having fun. But if we have any _more_ fun, I'm going to have to go buy a pack of condoms."

"Oh no," Emily exclaimed excitedly as her other hand came up to cup his jaw, "no, no, we don't need condoms! I'm on the pill! And super clean so," she gave him a hopeful smile, "does that mean you can stay?"

Hotch groaned as he dropped his head back to her chest.

God . . . his mouth landed just to the right of her bare nipple . . . the woman was KILLING him! And though he wanted, SO BADLY, to just finish pulling off the rest of her clothes . . . and his as well . . . again, he was TRYING to be responsible!

So he lifted his head.

"We should really stick to your three date rule." He answered regretfully, as he fixed the top of her dress. The sparkly halter part was still hanging down, but at least her breasts were covered again.

Mostly.

"But why, Aaron?" Emily asked with a faintly confused pout, "we've known each other forever. Why do you think we have to wait?"

His expression softened.

"Because if this doesn't work out," he responded quietly, "you know, in the long run, I don't want you to look back and regret anything. And if you have a minimum three date rule, it's because that's how long your brain has decided it needs to become comfortable with taking that step," he gave her a sad smile, "and I don't want to mess up that wonderful brain of yours. I want you to look back, whether I'm sitting next to you or not, and say to yourself, "yeah, that was the perfect night. I'm so glad we waited."

Emily's eyes started to burn as she looked up at him.

"You have to stop being so sweet and perfect," she said with a sniffle, "because you know I'm only trained to deal with jerks."

Hotch's eyes crinkled slightly as he reached out to touch her cheek.

"Sorry, do you want me to stick you with the check next time?" His lip quirked up. "Maybe close your coat in the car door? Would that help?"

"It might," she sniffed and nodded seriously, "a little."

"All right," he leaned over to kiss her forehead, murmuring softly, "I promise next time I'll do something jerky so you can smack me in the arm," he leaned back with a raised eyebrow, "okay?"

She huffed, "okay." Then she took a breath and leaned up to slip her arms around his neck.

Hotch immediately wrapped her up in a hug.

"I had a really, really good time tonight," she whispered as her eyes fell shut.

"Yeah," he gave her a tight squeeze, "me too. Do you have any ideas about you want to do next time?"

"Actually," she leaned back with a little smile, "yeah, I thought maybe we could got to the movies? Monday night they play old movies downtown at The National Theater. And maybe we could get McDonald's after and eat it on a bench at one of the monuments. You know how pretty they are at night." She looked over hopefully, "how's that sound?"

Hotch's eyes crinkled.

"I think that sounds perfect."

* * *

_A/N 2: Deliberate mirroring of their closing dialogue in those two sections. Something about this version of them, it's very easy to write them, 'sweet and cute/cuddly.' The courtship title really does help to set a different path than their previous ones. It is fun, and I think I'll stick with their formal date nights for a little bit. It's a fresh approach to write them out and about when mostly, after they're coupled up, they're either home or in the office._

_And the reason the coat check girl had to point out Emily's tag, was because I forgot to have Emily take the tag off the dress in chapter one! I realized it after :) Similar to another chapter in another story where Emily had to point out Hotch forgot his tie . . . because I forgot to put one on him. _

_Anyway, maybe another post tonight. Either way, hope you liked this one! Thanks :)_


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